


be kind when you rewind the story of the two of us

by rikujo (helphiddlestoned)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, the rating is for swearing only, wash your mouth out arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 21:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12639699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helphiddlestoned/pseuds/rikujo
Summary: Jumping the barriers at St Pancras doesn’t get you romance, it just gets you arrested—well, maybe both.





	be kind when you rewind the story of the two of us

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting finished in my FrUk folder for too long. To anyone not English, St Pancras International is a large train station in London. Enjoy!

He didn’t do romantic gestures.

He didn’t do large, ostentatious declarations.

He certainly didn’t do _public_.

So why the hell…why the hell was he sprinting through St Pancras International, head darting back and forth every few second looking to catch a glimpse of blonde hair.

Arthur checked his watch one more time.

“ _Shit_.”

Four minutes; four minutes until the Eurostar pulled out and took one very specific, infuriating, jumped-up, no good, absolutely breathtakingly gorgeous—two minutes before it took Francis with it.

And Arthur didn’t have a clue which platform it was on.

“Come on, come on,” he hissed, skidding to a halt before the endless stack of departure boards, eyes jumping from one to the next fruitlessly.

Finally, he zeroed on the right one.

Eurostar: 12:48. _Platform 13._

“Oh come the _fuck_ on! _”_

A little old lady beside him glared disapprovingly and he firmly ignored it, diving away from the boards down to the left instead. He weaved his way through the crushing crowd, cursing how many idiots always fancied themselves a sunny weekend on the continent, and then took off running again the moment it thinned a little. The sound of his boots hitting the overly shined tiles echoed too much, but there was nothing for it but to run, not with 13 all the way down the line.

“No running!” a guard called, but one glance told Arthur the man was hardly going to chase him—he’d clearly been sitting behind a desk for 20 years too long for that.

There was a chime from the overhead speakers.

“Would all passengers boarding the 12:48 Eurostar service please proceed to the platform. Doors will close in two minutes. Calling at Ebbsfleet, Ashford, Calais, Lille, Paris…”

Arthur stopped listening, skidding dangerously to a stop as he pulled up before platform 13, his eyes barely taking in the impressive glass roof curving above the platforms but instead focusing on the automated barriers in front of platform 13.

“Dammit.” he swore beneath his breath.

He took a deep breath, running a hand back through his hair roughly, and peered over them down the platform. He half considered turning straight back around and _not_ being an imbecile but then…

He inhaled a little too sharply at the sight of a familiar man and for goodness sake why was he wearing _white_ trousers of all things.

“Oi, frog!” he yelled, making the figure some way down the platform halt suddenly.

Deciding there was only one thing for it, Arthur took one last glance back through the station—damn, that guard was following him after all—and took the barriers at a run, vaulting them.

He alighted on the other side with a thump and quickly picked up his pace again in case the guard was suddenly feeling athletic. Ahead of him, Francis finally turned. Shoes squeaking against the smooth floor, Arthur juddered to a stop before the other man as Francis stared at him in confusion.

“Arthur, what on earth are you—”

“Look, I’ve probably got thirty seconds to do this before I get fined, so shut up.”

Without pause, he reached out, grasping the lapels of Francis’s blazer, and dragged the Frenchman straight into a kiss. It took a second for Francis to respond but then there were fingers in Arthur’s hair and warm lips parting against his. He kissed him soundly, trying to convey everything he’d left unsaid all these months.

His grip relaxing as he fell into the kiss, he let his hands slide up Francis's chest, one lifting to cup the Frenchman's jaw as their mouths moved together.

He pressed closer, wrapping his arms around Francis’s neck, and when they parted to take a breath at last, words he’d planned on never saying two days ago slipped out.

“Stay. Don’t get on the stupid train just…stay.”

A tiny smile flickered on Francis’s lips. “Who knew you had it in you to make a big romantic gesture.”

“Francis. Don’t ruin it.”

Francis chuckled. “Do I get a pretty declaration of love to persuade me?”

Arthur pursed his lips. “I hate you.”

“Hm, not quite, you got one of the words wrong.”

“For the love of god, man, will you take this seriously? We both know you couldn’t give a sod about going back to Paris – that job _isn’t_ worth it! They’ll be other restaurants, nicer ones, ones in London, and you can stay here in the flat with me…” He trailed off, swallowing thickly. “I know I’m not good at this.” he muttered. “I _know_ you could do better but I…I don’t _want you to_. I want you to stay.” He looked away, jaw clenching as he studying the flecks of grey in the floor tile. “But for the record,” he added quietly. “Whether you get on the train or not…yes, I do love you.”

The quiet that followed, despite the distant movement of trains and the general din of the station, was somehow deafening.

“Do you mean that?” Francis finally whispered.

Arthur blinked. “What? That’s not something people just blurt out without thought you know!”

“ _Arthur_.”

“I—yes of course I mean it.”

The next thing he knew, Francis had closed a hand around the collar of his jacket and tugged him forward again, catching his lips in another kiss. Softer than Arthur would have expected, they didn’t lose themselves in it as before, but as the gentle kiss broke they stayed drawn in close.

“I love you too.” Francis murmured between them.

Arthur’s entire body went slack and he curled a hand tightly in Francis’s blazer.

Well. Wasn’t that something?

“…tell me you’re not getting on the train.” he breathed.

Francis huffed out a soft laugh. “I’m not getting on the train—though I don’t see how I could now.”

“What?”

“The doors have closed, Arthur.”

Arthur pulled back a little, turning to stare at the train to his right, and found that the doors had indeed closed. They’d probably been that way for some time now, he realised.

“Right, so they have.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry about that.”

“Of all the things you’ve ever apologised for, I don’t think this should be one of them.”

Arthur made his fingers unclench, letting them drift down Francis’s side instead, and slid them beneath his blazer to curl a hand against his hip.

“So…home?”

Francis nodded, that smile rather too pleased. “I think so.”

There was a clatter from the end of the platform, and then a shout. “Oi, you, you can’t jump the barriers!”

“Oh bugger.”

**Author's Note:**

> A song was actually responsible for this: Our Song by The Spill Canvas. It's also where the title comes!
> 
> Don't ever jump the barriers at St Pancras, you will get instantly arrested.
> 
> I'm anglaisaph on tumblr if you want to come and bother me ❤


End file.
